


Commune With The Angels In The Original Proto-Semitic

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989)
Genre: Daddy Play, Drug Mentions, Oral Sex, Other, Service Submission, gender neutral reader, meandering dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Ray is having some trouble. He also hasn't had a chance to relax his brain. The reader gives him a hand!





	Commune With The Angels In The Original Proto-Semitic

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by the ever lovely Angel!
> 
> Written for a dear, dear friend. 
> 
> I love you, darling. <3

You find Ray sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by files, smoking absently as he reads some book that's probably older than America. 

You have to roll your eyes at this, as you make your way towards him, picking along his crowded apartment with a warm plate and a glass of water.

"Hi, sweetheart," Ray says, not looking up from his book.

"Hi," you say. "It's break time."

"Huh?" 

He looks up at you, blinking like a man walking into a bright room after dark, and he tries to get his bearings as he comes back to the land of the present day, where people spoke languages other than Akkadian, and there were things like meatloaf and electric lights.

"You've been reading that book for three hours," you tell him, carefully setting his plate down on an island of empty space on the table, then taking the book and moving it out of reach.

"But I was approaching a breakthrough towards -"

"You can have your breakthrough after you eat something," you tell him, pushing the plate towards him.

He puts his cigarette out in his ashtray and takes his glasses off, rubbing his eyes.

"What time is it?" 

"A little after one."

"In the afternoon?"

"In the morning, Ray."

You love the man - you really do - but he needs someone to follow him around with a stick, to poke him whenever he gets too deeply immersed into whatever it is he's doing for his latest research project, or however the world is going to end in the next couple of months.

The world is always going to end within the next few months.

You're becoming downright zen about it, at this point. 

"Oh," says Ray, and he looks at you again with those big brown eyes of his that make your heart melt a bit. "When did that happen?"

"Well," you say, grabbing the ashtray to go dump it in the trash, "first it was eleven at night, and then it was midnight, and now it's one."

You wrinkle your nose as you dump the ash and cigarette butts into the kitchen trash. 

He's been smoking more lately, which is generally a sign that he's working on a particularly difficult project.

"Oh," says Ray. "Yes, that would make sense."

He leans back into his chair, stretching and yawning, and his shirt rides up, giving you a tantalizing view of his slightly furry stomach.

You want to press your face into it, right now, just drop to your knees under the table and rub your face into the soft skin and the slightly wiry hair.

But now is not the time. 

At least wait until he's had some food in him.

The last time you tried to engage him in any kind of romantic thing - let alone sexual - after he'd been filling his head with the language of angels, he'd fallen asleep on your thigh. 

"You should gargle some water," you tell him, as you come back to the table.

He's staring at the meatloaf on the plate like it's a problem he needs to solve.

"Hmm?"

"Your mouth. It'll still taste like cigarettes."

"Oh. Right." 

Ray laughs, and he looks self conscious.

"I'm sorry you have to put up with all of this stuff," he says. "I don't know why you stick around...."

"Because I love you," you tell him, "and it's not like I'm putting up with much." 

He blushes dark red, and you smile in spite of yourself. 

Anyway, as boyfriends go, he's pretty good.

He talks about his feelings without being prodded. He's not stingy with compliments, he does the chores around the house when he's not lost in a fog of whatever project he's currently got on the brain. 

He does a million small things to make you happy, and you're smiling, just thinking of them.

"Well," he says, "I'll be back in a sec."

* * *

As he goes to make his mouth taste like less of an ashtray, you work on tidying up the table a bit.

You bought him a desk for his last birthday - this ridiculous thing you found at an antique store, made of walnut or oak or some other dark wood, with space for files, a huge hutch to store books in....

He thanked you profusely, and ended up using it as a filing cabinet.

He camps out at his kitchen table, because that's where he does his research, and that's apparently how he's gonna do it.

You can't complain too much - he's careful that his papers don't get covered in food or whatever other things end up on the table, and he doesn't even get grumpy when you move his books to make room for other things, as long as you make sure that they've got bookmarks.

Your ex would get tetchy over you moving his action figures, and they were only forty years old, not thousands!

Ray comes back from washing his mouth out, and he smiles at you with his whole face when he sees you moving books, his eyes crinkling at the edges and lighting up.

You smile back at him, blushing in spite of yourself.

"So what are you working on?" 

You sit down next to him, pulling the chair away from the table so that you can see him over the piles of books. 

"Well," says Ray, after he's chewed his meatloaf. "There's a new demon that we're worried about." He laughs, and he sounds a bit self conscience. "Would you believe me if I told you it's taking the form of childhood fears?"

"Like... what's his face did. The one who turned into Stay Puft."

"Kinda...?" He chews thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling, where the light fixture sways, as one of his neighbors paces.

They're pretty decent neighbors, other than the pacing.

"Like...." He swallows his meatloaf, holding another forkful. 

He probably skipped dinner, now that you think about it. 

He tends to do that when he's deep in his research.

"Like...?" You prompt.

"It... takes things out of your mind, right, and it make them... it shapes them, in ways that haven't been seen since the writings of Isaiah."

"What, Isaiah the biblical figure?"

"It's theorized," Ray says earnestly, "that when he saw all of those "angels," he was actually being manipulated by the demon, and it took hold of a bunch of his fears, turning them into what we now think of as "angels." 

"So the guy was afraid of... wheels and eyes and things with multiple heads?" You raise an eyebrow.

He smiles at you, bright enough to light up the room.

"I love that you know about that stuff," says Ray. "That you don't just think of... greeting cards when I talk about angels."

You blush, looking down at your hands.

You're... you're not someone who you would think Ray would be interested in. What with one thing and another, you'd always assumed that guys like Ray were interested in more... well, standard people.

A lot tongues were wagging when the two of you got together.

But he wanted someone who knew about angels and demons and ghosts and who even knew what else, not someone who was a specific gender, someone who was a specific weight, a specific look.

You're the luckiest person in the world, it feels like. 

"Well, yeah," you say, and you go to the fridge, to grab a soda for yourself. "But why would he perceive the things that he was seeing as angels, rather than demons, since they were taken from his own fears?"

"Well," says Ray, and he looks slightly scandalized, slightly amused, "it's also theorized that he was on enough drugs or... something or other that the demon might have had trouble actually understanding what was going on in his mind in the first place."

You take a slug of your drink, and then you start laughing, after you've swallowed it.

"So you're saying, you're gonna have to get out of your mind on LSD in order to actually fight this thing?"

"Well, hopefully not," says Ray, his voice earnest. "Although knowing Egon, he's probably got some special something or other hidden away. Super LSD that will let people commune with the angels in the original Proto-Semitic, or ghosts that are pretending to be angels, or something like that."

"Did you try any of that... experimental stuff while you were in college?" 

You wriggle your fingers at "experimental", trying to convey the wavy lines that show up in cartoons whenever someone is impaired in some way, shape, or form. 

He blushes a bit, rubbing his hands together. 

"I mean," he mumbles, and he takes a sip of his water, then another bite of meatloaf.

You're genuinely curious now - you've heard bits and pieces of what Ray was like when he was in college, from Peter and Egon, but they're all pretty... sketchy. Also, you'd double check if Peter Venkman told you the sky was blue, and Egon has never really been concerned with the memories of the old days. 

"You mean?"

You tease him, gently. 

"I... did a few things," he says, and he's still clearly blushing. "Things that I might consider a bit... unorthodox these days."

"What kind of unorthodox?"

Dating _you_ is unorthodox, and you know it, and he knows it, and you have a feeling that he knows that you know it.

Although you need to be careful going down that particular road, otherwise it gets confusing.

"Well," said Ray, still blushing, "I might have once made a still in the chemistry lab. And Peter attempted to grow marijuana, although he made the mistake of letting Egon mix the fertilizer."

"... what happened?" 

You've seen what Egon's fertilizer can do. 

Sometimes if you close your eyes you can still smell those "tomatoes", although you've done your best to forget about it. 

"Well," says Ray, "Peter almost smoked it, and I think Egon got one hit."

"What happened after that?"

"I don't remember," Ray says, and he laughs, then takes another bite of his meatloaf. "But I know that one of our roommates tried it, and then he grabbed a few friends and pulled a full on Frankenstein's mob -"

"What, complete with pitchforks?"

"Well, maybe not pitchforks, but they set the whole thing up in smoke, and... that was the end of my college experimentation days."

"There's more than one kind of experimentation," you point out to him, nudging him gently with your foot.

He grabs your ankle, pulling your foot into his lap, and you try not to squirm too much as he gently squeezes it.

You're more than a little ticklish, but the attention is nice. 

"What are you implying?" 

He raises an eyebrow, then ruins the look by taking another bite of meatloaf and chewing on it.

Of course, he's still trying to look super dignified and mysterious, which sets you off laughing, because _nobody_ can look super dignified and mysterious, when they're chewing on a piece of meatloaf. 

"Well," you say, trying to be casual, trying not to let your own anxiety bubble out, "I know that... getting together with me is a kind of experimentation."

He swallows his meatloaf, and he scoots his chair back, opening his arms up for you. 

You stand up, eyeing him cautiously. 

He pats his lap.

You sit in his lap, carefully, resting your head against his.

" _You_ are not an experiment," he tells your solemnly. "Or if you are, then... you're an ongoing experiment, that is going to be going on for a long, long time. Like that light bulb in California." 

"... light bulb?"

You look at him quizzically, genuinely confused.

"Yeah," he says. "There's a light bulb that's been on since 1901, and it's still going!"

"That's not an experiment," you point out. "It's just a thing that's happened and kept happening."

"Well," says Ray, in a tone that's very final, which sounds hilarious in his slightly goofy voice, "that's what you and I are, then, isn't it?"

You blush, avoiding his face a bit, because you're blushing so hard that your cheeks are on fire.

"Now," he says, and he clears his throat. He sounds a bit nervous, but doing his best. "How about a kiss for Daddy?"

... oh fuck.

Now, that?

That's new.

After he had nearly died (again), from fighting a giant... something or other in Japan, you'd given him a crying confession of all the weird stuff in your heart, sobbing so hard that the phone dripped.

Including the dirty stuff.

After he had come back, you'd had a long talk about... stuff.

And he's remembered it, it seems.

"Sorry," Ray says, and he looks even more embarrassed. "Should there have been more lead up to that? I've always been bad at telling that kind of thing."

"No, no," you tell him quickly. "It was fine. I just, uh... wasn't expecting it."

You both laugh, forehead to forehead, chuckling, and then you're kissing each other.

The first kiss is an easy, chaste one, a brush of lips on lips.

You're sitting in his lap side saddle, and you shift around a bit, so that you're pressed closer.

Your arm is draped around his shoulders, and your other hand is clinging to his sweater.

It's an old one, red, and has been worn to the point that there are holes in the elbows.

You are going to steal it from him at some point, because it's so soft, and it smells like him, and you love it so. 

The trick is to get him _out_ of it.

He kisses you again, gently, his big hands cupping your cheeks, and his lips are dry, chapped, but they're warm against your own, and you can taste a little bit of his cigarettes on his breath, and his dinner, as well as whatever it was that made him smell and taste like himself.

You sigh into the kiss, and he takes it as a sign to slide his tongue into your mouth gently, tentatively, even though you've done this who even knows how many times before. 

That's one of the millions of reasons that you love him - because he's always so careful with you, treating you like he's a little bit afraid of you, of hurting you.

It's a strange rush of power and tenderness, and you cuddle closer to him, and tilt your head back, to give him more control. 

He takes it, graciously, as gently as he does almost everything else, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

He moans quietly, and it vibrates against your lips, almost makes your teeth tickle, and you moan back, which opens your mouth wider, which gives him more access to it, which makes his hands go up a little further, his fingers going to the back of your head, catching a bit of the tender hair on the very back of the neck, then down your back, cupping your shoulder blades.

You sigh, and you press closer to him, then pull back, nuzzling against his cheek.

"Hi, Daddy," you mumble, avoiding eye contact, just enjoying being this close.

His belly is pressing into your side, and his hand is on your back, his other hand on your hip. 

"Hi," he whispers back, and he begins to kiss along your neck.

His face is scruffy - he's been studying this strange demon (or possibly angel? Everything in your head is a bit fuzzy, bubbly, like champagne) long enough that he hasn't had a chance to shave, and the drag of his stubble against your neck is enough to make your whole body erupt in goosebumps, your toes curling in your socks. 

"Oh," you almost sob, and you shudder, still clutching at him. 

Your arousal is already starting - a tightening, deep in your belly. Your nipples going hard, although he won't be able to tell, with your baggy t-shirt. Your skin is so sensitive, and every little kiss, drag, nibble, it makes it worse, until you're going to explode into a million pieces or melt into a puddle of ectoplasm.

... actually.

"Can human beings create ectoplasm?" 

You blurt it out before you have a chance to stop it, and he pulls back from your neck, looking intrigued.

"I mean," says Ray, his fingers running up and down your back through your thin t-shirt, "it could be argued that _all_ humans produce ectoplasm, since the majority of ghosts are former humans, and, well, former humans are kind of sort of humans, except for the fact that it brings up its own ethical issues, because _then_ we might be imprisoning people against their will and...."

He pauses, possibly catching your expression[.

"You can't create ectoplasm," he tells you. "Well, maybe you could, if you really wanted to? Or tried." He makes a goofy face at you, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out at you, and you burst out laughing. "You can do anything you put your mind to!"

"I bet you tell that to everyone sitting on your boner," you tease.

"Oh, crap, I'm sorry," says Ray, and he shifts his position, possibly in an attempt to shield you from the terror of his penis.

"No, no," you say quickly. "No, please don't apologize. You don't need to apologize for having an erection when I've been, you know, making out with you. I'd be insulted if you didn't." Then you realize what that sounds like, and you resist the urge to slap yourself in the forehead. "I mean, unless you weren't feeling it, which is totally a valid thing, just -"

He puts a finger over your lips, and he looks amused, and very endeared.

"You're the cutest thing I've ever seen, you know that?"

"Even cuter than that one fear demon that was living in the subway tunnels?"

"Even cuter than that!"

You blush, pressing your face into his neck, where his sweater is soft against your cheek. 

"Thank you, Daddy," you mumble, aware that your voice is making his skin vibrate, ever so slightly. 

The way he shivers under you makes you shiver in turn. 

“I’d rather you ask me questions, even if it ruins the mood,” Ray continues, as earnest as ever.

And he’s so… sweet, so cute, that you have to kiss him again, kiss him with your whole mouth, kiss him… dirty, because he sighs and shudders against you, and now his hips are rocking forward, pressing the bulge of his erection against your thigh, and if that’s not the hottest thing ever you don’t even know what is. 

"Would you like me to suck you off?" 

You use your sweetest voice as you say it, stopping short of fluttering your eyelashes, but only barely. 

Ray makes a surprised noise that's almost a squawk, and he's blushing so hard that you could probably fry an egg on his face.

"I mean," says Ray, "um."

"You _did_ say you like it when I ask you questions."

Your voice is so sweet, so unassuming, and you are relishing just how embarrassed he looks.

You'd call yourself a sadist, except this is the meanest you can get. 

Especially with sweet, sweet Ray.

"I... I did, didn't I?"

"Yep!"

"So. Um. I might be... interested," Ray mumbles, and he's looking down. 

"Hmm? What was that, Daddy?" 

"I'd like that."

"Like what?"

"For you to... you know."

"No," you say. "I don't know, Daddy. Can you tell me?" 

He's blushing so hard that his cheek is hot to the touch, pressed against your neck.

"I'd like you to... to... perform fellatio. On me."

You burst out laughing.

"I can't exactly perform fellatio on myself," you point out.

"Well, no," he says, "but... if you'd to do it for me...?" 

"I'll do it for you," you tell him.

You try to slide artfully off of his lap, but almost hit your head on the table, and end up landing flat on your ass. 

And you're laughing.

It, once again, kind of ruins the sexy mood, but it's worth it, seeing the way he's smiling, looking slightly concerned. 

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," you tell him, and you shift your position, so that you're between his legs.

You put your hands on his thighs, and you gently push them open, nuzzling up along the inseam of his old jeans. 

You can smell him already - musky, and like himself, as you begin to kiss him, gently. 

His hand rests on your head, and when you glance up at him, you see him looking down at you, his face sweet and open. 

You smile at him, and you mouth along the bulge of his cock through his pants.

"... _oh_ ," Ray mumbles, and his hand is pressing down harder on your head, enough to make you press just that much closer.

You're leaving a wet spot on his jeans, a dark spot, where your own spit has over saturated the fabric. 

"Mmm," Ray groans, and he tugs gently on your hair. "You're so... nice. You... feel so good, mmm... can you take it out? Please?"

"Yes, Daddy," you say, keeping your tone sweet as you get up on your knees, nearly hitting your head on the table.

You're totally the very image of sexy, aren't you? 

Ah well.

He likes you.

That's the important part. 

So you carefully unbuckle his pants, the buckle jingling, and you unbutton them, then reach into the fabric to take his dick out. 

It's familiar, and you smile in spite of yourself - penises are funny looking, but you're fond of his. 

You kiss the tip of it, very gently, and he groans like he's in pain.

“Yes, just like that sweetheart!"

You grin, and huff a little laugh, a puff of air across the tip of his penis, and he squirms from the attention, his toes curling, ever so slightly. 

"Oh my god," he hisses, and he shudders under you, his toes curling against the floor.

His thighs are like stone, tensing up and relaxing alternately, and you squeeze them, just to hear him gasp again.

"You're so... good at this, oh my god, oh...."

You begin to lick along the shaft wetly, making a pleased noise at the way he groans, his heels digging into your sides as he begins to rock his hips forward.

"Oh, that's good, that's... fuck! Oh, sorry, I shouldn't... oh!"

You take the head of his cock in your mouth, letting it rest on your lower lip, and you begin to suck on it, swirling your tongue along the very slit of it, sucking on it noisily, like a bottle of whiskey. 

He is twitching and mumbling under you, and you begin to do things with your tongue - rasping against the glans, then right under it, concentrating on that one soft, delicate spot that you know is his best spot. 

Well, one of his best spots.

He's got a lot of best spots.

All of him is amazing, and you're losing yourself in it - drool dripping down your chin, making a mess of the front of your shirt as you slurp and bob your head, beginning to suck him harder.

You take the shaft into your mouth, and now he's full on gibbering, as you take it deeper.

His cock hits the back of your throat, and you gag, which... isn't nice, but you hold on, stubbornly, because you want to prove that you can do this for him, and the way he trembles is enough to make your own arousal coil tighter and tighter.

You're shifting your own hips, grinding the seam of your pants right where it's appreciated, and you're gonna be able to cum pretty quickly, if you're not careful. 

But who is gonna cum first, him or you?

And then he's pulling his cock out of your mouth, and it slaps wetly against your cheek.

"Oh geez. I'm sorry," he says. "That was -"

"Don't worry about it," you tell him, and you clear your throat - your voice is a bit rough from the treatment. 

"I'd like to... I'd like to fuck you," Ray says, and he's blushing at the language, but he's so _cute_ , and how could you say no?

Well, no, you can always say no if you need to, and that's definitely an important part of everything. 

It's the reason why you're so willing to do all of these things in the first place.

So you smile at him, and you stand up, shoving your pants down.

"Let me just... get the lube," Ray says, and he stands up quickly. 

His pants fall down, and the both of you make eye contact and burst out laughing. 

"Oops," says Ray.

He looks sheepish. 

“How about I get the lube and the gloves,” you tell him. “Just… sit down.”

“How am I supposed to -”

“I can ride you,” you tell him.

He blushes harder, but his cock twitches like a tuning fork. 

“Fair enough,” he says.

You almost trip as you go to get the latex gloves and the lube, as well as the condom, but you get them to him.

“Right,” he says, and he pats his knee with the hand not wearing a glove, then pours lube onto his fingers. “You wanna… you wanna sit on Daddy’s lap?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you say, suddenly bashful. 

You straddle his knee, carefully, and you press your chest against his, pressing your face into his neck. 

His finger is careful, tentative, as it circles your entrance, then slide in.

You try to relax around it, and you kiss him, one hand between your legs to grind right up against it, your thumb pressing against the one spot that will always get you going. 

He moaned as he adds a second finger, carefully thrusting them in.

“You feel so good,” he tells you. “Inside. You feel so good inside, and... I can’t wait to be inside of you.”

You flush, pressing your face closer, clinging to him with your free hand. 

He curls his fingers, and suddenly things are… things are a lot more intense, and you go a bit boneless for a minute, your interior muscles squeezing his fingers, holding on tightly to his sweater. 

“Right there,” he says, and he rattles off the scientific name of it, which is sexy in its own way, but right now you’re more concerned with the way his fingers are curling and moving inside of you, until you’re about to cum, and how can you be about to cum when you’ve only just started all of this?

“I’m ready,” you blurt out, letting go of your sticky, slick hand, with lube and your own arousal. 

“Can you put the condom on?” He bites his lip. “I don’t want to move my hands.”

He replaces your hand, and you grind against his palm, as it rubs you just the way you need it. 

You roll the condom down over his dick, carefully, and you jerk his cock carefully, squeezing it from the head to the base, and he groans like he’s been gut shot.

“Please,” he says thickly. “Please. I need to be in you. Please!”

His fingers leave you, and you get up higher, until his cock is lined up with your entrance. 

And then you’re sinking down onto him, and oh fuck, that is a lovely, satisfying stretch, just what you need.

He groans in the back of his throat, and he holds onto your hips.

You settle on top of him, and his hand is between your legs, rubbing you the way you need, and you’re panting, pressing your forehead against his, then kissing him.

He starts to grind his hips upwards, inside of you, and he’s so thick, splitting you in half, full on bouncing you. 

“Daddy,” you mumble. “Daddy, please, Daddy… don’t stop, please Daddy, you’re so big inside of me _eee_!”

He does something with his wrist, and now you’re squeezing around him, which is making him gabble some more, sobbing at the intensity. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he says in your ear. “You’re so good, you feel so good, I’m gonna… I’m gonna fill you up, you’re so wet, you’re so… tight….”

He squeezes your hips, hard enough that you might be tender, but that’s nice too, knowing that he’ll be off at the firehouse doing his own thing, and you can press on your hips and remember what it felt like when he filling you up.

“Come on, sweetie,” he says. “Cum for Daddy. Please, please, cum for Daddy, you’re gonna… _I’m_ gonna…!”

He does something tricky with his wrist, and then you’re just… cumming. 

You’re getting cum all over his sweater, and you’d be apologetic, but you’re both full on sweating, you’re twitching and shuddering as he hold on to you, with his lubed up hand and his bare hand, and you watch his face as he fully sheathes himself inside of you, his cock throbbing and twitching.

The rush of heat is muted, through the condom, but he’s swelling inside of you, and then he’s sagging back against his chair, panting heavily, his face red.

“Holy shit,” Ray says, and then he’s laughing. “That was… amazing.”

You laugh, and you rub noses with him, then kiss him. 

“Good enough to speak to the angels?”

“In the original proto-Semitic,” he agrees. 

You kiss him, and your heart is glad. 

He kisses you back, and you can feel the love in the soft press of his lips. 

“Hmm….” His expression is going dreamy, thoughtful, the way it usually does after an orgasm.

“Hmm?”

“Maybe… maybe the demons were a bit more complicated than I thought they were,” Ray says slowly. 

“Hmmm?” 

“You know the nephilim?” 

“Vaguely,” you say. “I never met one personally.”

“You’d meet a nephil personally, not a nephilim,” Ray says. “But maybe some of those spawned from the same thing that brought about that demon….”

“The sex with me was good enough to give you a breakthrough?”

You raise an eyebrow.

He laughs, still sheepish.

“I take my inspiration where I can get it?”

“Fair enough!”

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic? Check out my Tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


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